Nocturne in Aluminum
by rvr idtq
Summary: Trapped in a Harry Potter world gone mad with Mary Sueism, an outsider unaffected by the dark magic at work must struggle to save Hogwarts. A parody, mind you.
1. Back in the Swing of Things

Nocturne in Aluminum

A/N: Profound apologies for all those waiting for updates on my other stories. Chapter 2 of Perseus Complex is nearly ready. I needed a break of sorts though, and I could not resist this opportunity. This fic grew out of a dream I had a few nights past. I regularly have Harry Potter dreams where I seem to fit in neatly as a regular character. As such, this story needs a bit of explanation. I appear as the narrator and central figure. However, I am not the Mary Sue; she comes into play later on. (Wait for it!) My comings and goings are results of waking up and falling back asleep, etc. Raymie and Spud are from "Trainspotting," care of Irvine Welsh. As to the title, go figure; I have no idea myself. I've been wanting to do something like this for ages, so here goes nothing.

Chapter 1- Back in the Swing of Things

I awoke quite gently and swiftly that time, though I must admit I was in no position to properly judge was what "swift." It has always seemed so when I pass between; but I'm sure that sometimes that stretch of black emptiness must be hours rather than the brief moments it always seems to be. 

But rarely has it been as gentle as it was then. I merely slipped in and took over with only a bit of muddled blinking in-between. There I was in one of the larger compartments of the train, thinking momentarily that one of us must have done a commendable job of staking out our seats. Even though we were on the older end of things it would still have required a bit of stoic shoving to get such a good spot. All was right with the world.

I think Harry might have noticed the slight snap as I passed in. If he hadn't seen at that moment, he must have caught on when I opened my trunk and muttered "Well done," at seeing that my subconscious replacement had done my summer homework. I had never explained it all to any of them, but some (though perhaps not the eternally oblivious Ron) I assume had some grasp of the way I came and went without leaving at all.

Speaking of Ron, he was, I noticed, just beginning his usual complaints of "Corned beef again? But I hate corned beef," as I closed my trunk and sat back down.

"It's not fair. _He_ gets whatever he wants, but she doesn't even care about her _real_ sons," Ron muttered as he picked at the mashed sandwich.

One of us, Harry I think, asked him what the hell he was going on about.

He replied with a moody, "Oh, didn't you hear? Mum adopted Draco. Seems he decided to reject his father's evil ways over the summer and got disowned. So, mum took his newly angelic self in and made Percy share his room with the git." He paused for a moment to watch the twisting expressions crossing our faces with some enjoyment. "To top it all off, it seems he's fallen nervously in love with Hermione, that smarmy bastard. They're probably off snogging in the prefects' compartment."

It was then that I realized the final member of the trio was missing. I suppose I didn't notice from the start because I rarely seem to see Hermione, even when I'm with Ron and Harry. Like Spud and Raymie, it's as though we're the same person, not because of any extreme similarities, but because we travel in essentially the same circles without ever really crossing paths more than once or twice every few weeks. It's really a rare accomplishment especially when you consider the fact that we're in the same house. It's not as though we even avoid each other. I get on with Hermione as well as I do with anyone. I just always seem to disappear off to the library just moments before she returns on an alternate route. I think we must miss each other even when I've left and it's only my subconscious self running on left-overs. It's become a bit of a joke really.

My immediate reaction to the mess was to slam my head against the conveniently placed window. I snapped out for a moment as a result, but I could hardly stop myself. It was all too tragic.

As soon as I was back in place by the window, I joined Harry in a few moments of inquisitive swearing, though I admit I did continue on noticeably longer than he did. I think now that only a portion of that was due to the workings of the magic. The rest was just me, sadly. (It was, however, some excellent swearing, all things considered. I used a broader vocabulary then than I do in most school essays.)

The obligatory anger/denial out of the way, I then proceeded to think rationally on the issue. The only way such things could come to pass was if some great evil had set them into motion; an evil more powerful than any of us had experienced before. That was really saying something, as my 6th grade math teacher was a real demon.

There was nothing to be done though. I could not act without further information. I would just have to wait for the sorting. I pulled a set of school robes from my trunk and went to change in one of the train's small bathrooms. Before I left I took a moment to jinx the toilet. A slight pang of guilt did course through my veins when that second year ran screaming past the compartment with neon green hair. It did wonders for the tension in my shoulders, though, and really helped to take my mind off the horrors I knew to be waiting for us all.

My only mistake was that I decided it would be best to wait to tell Harry and Ron. Perhaps they were already too far-gone, and even if they weren't, telling them might have done nothing. Still, regret haunts me each time I think of how I might have saved them before they were drawn in by that despicable creature.


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

A/N: No author's note this time- just a quick disclaimer. Harry Potter & Co. (most unfortunately) do not belong to me in the slightest. I'm only borrowing them, and I promise I'll give them back when I'm done. I also do not own "Eleanor Rigby" by the Beatles (also unfortunately). Wait, I lied. For my author's note I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2- Something Wicked This Way Comes

I don't like green beans. There is something about those slimy green pods that I cannot stomach. Quite literally. As such, I was avoiding them thoroughly that evening at the feast, even before the food was even presented. You never know when someone is going to spring a plate of green beans on you. Anyway, that horrible sickening sensation, that agonizing churning of stomach acid that always accompanied my ingestion of _les haricots verts_ swelled up within me without any warning. And that was why I yelled out "Augh! Save me from the green demons!" into the stunned silence.

First, I felt ill and vomited onto Neville's lap.

Then, the embarrassment kindled a fire beneath my skin, and I had a jolly time roasting marshmallows off of my cheeks while glancing around wildly to survey the damage. Somehow, by some beautiful miracle, absolutely everyone was staring at someone else. Even poor Neville, who had a box's worth of partially digested Every Flavor Beans streaming down his legs, was completely oblivious to my outburst.

"I have a special announcement," began Dumbledore. A tiny siren went off in my head, but I threw it in Neville's pumpkin juice where it gave one last squawk of warning before sputtering to a stop. I didn't think he would mind really. "A new student will be joining us this year, and I trust that you all will welcome her most kindly. She has transferred to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons, and she will be joining the fifth years in their lessons." At that, Neville stood up to get a better look, and I had to slide over a few inches to avoid the downpour. 

The exchange student (I shudder at the phrase now as I record my account) presumably approached the center of the hall. I could not see- nearly every other student had joined Neville in standing.

"Dubois, Marie Annette," called McGonagall. I climbed up on to the Gryffindor table to see. As I had expected, no one seemed to care, even when I did a quick jig in the middle of a plate of chicken legs to test.

As I write this horrible tale for you now, the only music that can quite match the eternal sorrow that flooded my soul as I stood amid the trodden chicken is Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Its slow and gentle rhythm brings tears to my eyes as I remember my horror as the "exchange student" delicately sat on the stool and placed the hat on her head. For just a moment, I hoped most desperately that the hat might have escaped the enchantment that stupefied everyone around me.

"Gryffindor!" yelled the hat, and I cried aloud with anguish, my worst fears realized. I kicked the plate of chicken. I think one of the legs hit Neville quite squarely on the forehead. He really didn't seem to mind. Especially when dear Marie sat in my seat before I could get down off of the table.

"Sorry, you seem to have sat down in my seat," I said with more politeness than was really warranted.

"Oh, terribly sorry," said she with an equally saccharine tone. "Look- there's a seat free over there." She pointed down to the end of the table nearest the staff table.

"Oh, all right then." I stood patiently waiting for her to get up and move. Clearly she was doing the same, only she was sitting. Generally, I have award-winning self-control, and when she began chatting away and helping herself to food on my plate I remained stoically standing. But when she asked me if I would lift my right foot so she could reach the potatoes it was, so to speak, the straw that broke the hippogriff's back. I took a step back behind the bowl of potatoes and launched it, with a well placed kick, in the direction of Miss Marie's sweetly smiling face. To my disgust, the torpedo missed her entirely, no doubt because of some freak cross wind brought on by her mere presence. It hit Neville in the stomach, and, damn it, he didn't seem to mind.

I have nothing against first years with runny noses. I was one once myself. But no amount of nostalgia would ever make me want to sit next to one, especially when they happened to be in the middle of a spectacular sneezing fit.

~~~~~~~~~~

Normally I don't sleep in my dormitory at school, partly because I don't actually know where it is, but largely because I spend most nights in important activities (spying, secret meetings, midnight detentions, general mischief, etc.). But that night, because of the circumstances and general nothing-else-to-do, I set to the task of finding a bed to sleep in. 

Logically, I reasoned, I had to know somehow where my dormitory was as I did manage to regularly change my clothes. My clothes were kept in my trunk and my trunk in my dormitory. All I needed to do was remember. That is why I was bouncing on one leg in the common room with my eyes closed (I thought it might jog my memory), and that is why Hermione and I had a particularly nasty collision. (She walked right into the path of one of my more violent leaps just as I was leaping it.)

Once we had both stood up and made attempts at looking dignified, it occurred to me that there might be a much simpler solution to my problem.

"So, Hermione, being that you're also a girl, you wouldn't happen to know where my dormitory is?"

"Your dormitory?"

"Yes. I've forgotten where it is." Hermione looked at me, for a moment, the way my father always did whenever things took to disappearing around the house- an "If you're not telling the truth...." sort of look. But Hermione seemed to decide, upon inspection, that I was absolutely serious.

"How old are you then?" 

"15, I think. Hard to keep track sometimes." 

"15? Really?"

"Yes. I'm fairly sure."

"That's funny." She then did a perfect re-enactment of the face my mother always made whenever things took to disappearing. (More of an "I'm sure I put that book right here...." expression.)

"Eh?"

"Well, you should be in my year then."

"Really? I guess I am then."

"But you can't be...."

"Well, that's really beside the point, isn't it?" Hermione clearly thought it was exactly the point, but I wasn't going to let her say so. I had one goal in mind, and it did not involve listening to Hermione try to reason out my existence. "Anyway, where's our dormitory then?"

"Up those stairs over there-" even her arm had that sour, defeated look as she pointed," -You can't miss it."

"Right then." And I rode off into the sunset on a brilliantly white stallion, grinning cheerfully because good had triumphed over evil once again. No, really I just trotted over to the stairs, pausing once or twice to supply a bit of random nonsense to some conversations I passed. Good was about as far from triumphing over evil as Neville's toad was. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived in the dormitory, found my trunk, and, seeing the bathroom attached to the dormitory, decided to take a nice, calming shower. I gathered up the few things I would need, and went into the bathroom.

It wasn't anywhere near as nice as the prefects' bathroom, but for a school bathroom it was above par. Apparently several of the Gryffindor girls' dormitories fed into it, as it was reasonably large. The showers at least (there were several) were separated into individual stalls. I set up a silencing charm around the first stall I came to, even though I had the room to myself, and was having a lovely time shampooing to a medley of muggle songs. I could even forget the unpleasant events of dinner as I began to make up words to fit the tune of one of my favorites when I ran out of real ones. Little did I know of the troubles that awaited me.

When I was in the middle of my own garbled French translation of "Eleanor Rigby" for the second time, I noticed how wrinkled I was becoming and finished my shower promptly. I was fully clothed again when I entered the dormitory, but when I realized what had happened in my absence, I think my pajama bottoms nearly leaped out the window.

Hermione was there, reading some no doubt dull-as-week-old-algae book on Arithmancy and pausing occasionally to glare. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were there too. They were both giggling and being glared at by Hermione at the same time, most likely because they were giggling. All of this was normal enough. It was, though, slightly abnormal that they were sitting cross-legged on the floor next to my bed and looking up as they giggled. However, I thought nothing of it until it occurred to me to look at my bed itself. There, looking like the epitome of the peppy, adolescent female (the queen mother of all giggling teen girls, if you will) was the one creature I would never even wish on my worst enemy. 

And as I stood frozen with horror in the doorway, those unnaturally blue-green-auburn-I-don't-know-what eyes turned on me. A chill so cold that it seemed to burn through the very marrow of my spine tore through my flesh, and all hope was banished from my soul.

~~~~~~~~~~

((The plot thickens…or congeals. Whichever. Coming soon (sooner if you review!)- more of your favorite characters, more standing on furniture, and perhaps a shadow donkey or two.))


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